An Injury
by madelinesticks
Summary: Harry gets a bit of a shock when he's still young. He learns a bit, and, perhaps, gets a tad more cunning. HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

Harry started scrubbing harder when he heard Vernon's car rumble into the driveway. If his Uncle even suspected he wasn't working hard he would be punished. He heard the door open. Petunia simpered to her husband as he stomped into the kitchen. Judging by his step, even heavier than normal, Harry guessed he'd had a bad day at work. The angry voice drifted up the stairs.

"On caution! How dare they! I hadn't even touched her! A few jokes and this is what they do! Honestly, Petunia, this country is going to the dogs!"

"Yes, Vernon." she replied, her voice shaking a little. Odd, Harry thought. Her voice generally shook only when she told Harry off, or when she was scared. Now, a normal Vernon was nothing to be afraid of when you weren't Harry, so there was something wrong. He pondered this as he finished the bathroom floor. He walked down the stairs silently, avoiding the creaky one. He walked into the kitchen.

"Sparkling clean, Aunt Petunia. Do you want me to put these away, or would you like me to attend to something else?" he asked obediently. He had learnt quickly to ask before putting something away, for Petunia quickly jumped to the conclusion that he would steal cleaning supplies for one reason or another. Talking like a butler was a practice he had adopted on his own. The words he used were not really suited to the high voice of a 6 year old, but they seemed to calm the aggression of his relations somewhat.

"Put them away, freak, then tidy Dudley's room for when he comes back from his sleepover." she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am." He said. He put the bucket and scrubber away and walked back up the stairs to Dudley's room. At least he understood Petunia's fear now. There had been a stack of bottles and cans in front of Vernon. Apparently he was getting drunk tonight. On a Friday, with no work to be hindered by a hangover, it didn't matter. Of course, Vernon was a nasty drunk, so Harry had learned. He would try to stay out of his way. He doubted that it would make a difference.

An hour later, Harry walked downstairs, with a few dirty plates he had retrieved from Dudley's room. He stepped into the kitchen quietly and put them in the sink.

"Shall I wash these now, or leave them until la-" he yelped as Vernon cut him off and lunged at him without provocation.

"You need to learn your place, boy! Speak only when spoken to!" He thundered in a drunken frenzy. He picked a knife from the sink and forced Harry's mouth open. Harry knew only pain after that.

He woke up in his cupboard. His mouth felt funny. He tried to move his tongue about but found it felt strange. Thinking about the knife, he worried. Hesitantly, he put his fingers to his mouth and reached in. His tongue was there! But, he could feel a strange, raised part of flesh along the centre of it. Weird. He went back to sleep.

Quick adaption was something Harry had practised a lot over his years at the Dursleys. While he could still speak, it was fairly uncomfortable to do so, and he avoided it as best he could. That made the Dursleys think he was mostly mute. He was kept inside for a week as the fabrication that some tramp had attacked him circulated. After that he was back to school, to the morbid delight of his classmates. Constantly he was mobbed by people eager to see the new scar. When he started to refuse, it was just another reason to bully the Potter boy. His teachers sympathised, which Harry understood, but when they began to suggest he wasn't capable, he was incensed. Sympathy was one thing, but downtrodden though he was, he needed some degree of pride. He began to work harder than ever before. Previously, he had tried to linger at the bottom of the class, not wanting to attract the anger of his relatives for cheating to beat Dudders.

But this was different. If he worked properly, showed the teachers what he was capable of, they wouldn't move him away from his classmates. They has enough reason to bully him as it was, he didn't need to be called stupid for extra, private tuition as well.

Over the next few years, Harry did incredibly at school. After rapidly learning sign language so he didn't have to talk as much, and improving his penmanship to communicate more easily, he focused more on his general knowledge, or lack thereof. He worked ahead in class, spending his break times in the library, in order to absorb its contents. He learned about animals, plants, science, maths, and so on. He learned which plants had healing properties, he learnt recipes that would enhance the Dursleys' mood, he learnt self defence, in short, he learnt all he could to enhance his life. In a bid to be greener than her neighbours, Petunia had recently invested in a vegetable garden. With the herbs, fruits and veg from it, he made the Dursleys calmer through their meals.

He bought camomile tea rather than the usual, and when he did get hurt, which was now unlikely, he knew quick remedies. With his minimal self defence skill, he sidestepped and dodged his bullies. In those two short years between 6 and 8, his life was made happier with subtle manipulations.

At the age of 8, however, Harry's school allowed him in the big library, which was situated across the road.

Upon arriving, Harry started quickly absorbing new knowledge. He slowed, however, upon reaching the section on the mind. Small though it was, it contained a large range of books. He quickly employed the techniques he discovered in the dark of his cupboard at night. The first thing he did was find his core. He had employed meditation before, and had found it very calming. But he hadn't been looking for anything, just clearing his mind. Now he tried to look inside himself, and after hours of trying, he succeeded. In the dark, he found a pulsing sphere of light, purple in colour, though flashes of gold and silver appeared now and then. This was his life force. Contained within in it were his memories. He reached out, and touched it with a slim finger. There was a huge flash; blinding light forced him to tightly shut his eyes.

He found himself in a modest house, far from the large, empty expanse the book had told him to expect. Still, this was better than nothingness, surely. The house had a bedroom, a bathroom, an office and a combined kitchen and living room. There were a few shelves in the living room. He walked over and picked one out. It was a fantasy book he had read years ago. The books seemed to be all the fiction books he had ever read. He was delighted at this. Meditation had always provided him with as much rest as sleep, and now he could settle back in one of these armchairs and read. Oddly, he couldn't find any non-fiction books. He walked to the office. Rather than books, in here there were filing cabinets, marked people, places, animals, plants and activities. Curious, he went to the animal cabinet and opened it, picking a file at random.

"Red Chested Robin

Small bird, brown, white and red feathers, chest is red. Playful, loud bird, very loyal..."

What followed was all the things he knew about them, and where he had seen them. This was incredible. If he worked this right, he would never forget anything again!

He looked in the bedroom. It was simple but comfortable. He glanced in the bathroom. Bath/shower, sink and toilet, nothing elaborate. He exited his humble bungalow. He was in a large garden that was fenced with white wood. He looked at it, frowning. He really would prefer it brown. Instantly, it changed colours. He blinked at it. It seemed to make sense. This was supposed to be his mindscape after all, it wasn't surprising that he could control it. He nodded a little. He walked to the back of house, and gasped. It was beautiful. At the very back were numerous fruit trees. Through an arch was a path leading through them. Hanging from two was a blue hammock that overlooked a pond covered in lilies. He walked past the pond and into the trees. The path was long, and it twisted and turned many times. When he reached the end and looked out, he was amazed. Before him was a huge library, even bigger than the one across from the school. He entered it and stared. He had finished his school library, and a good amount of the local one, but this place was almost empty. There were thousands of empty shelves, all with a label of subject. He shivered at the thought of filling this massive room with books. The knowledge would be wonderful!

On the walk back to his house, Harry wondered about the security of his new found haven. Could anyone enter his mindscape? Could he enter others? He decided he would make it harder to get in, just in case. Besides, it was best to find out what sort of power he held here, and how much.

First he made a large clear dome around the house and the library. It appeared to have the consistency of glass, much too fragile for Harry's ideas. He put another dome outside the first, leaving air between, which he soon filled with molten steel and concrete. It was oddly tiring, not what he'd expected. He continued all the same. That idea had originated from his Uncle, who often spoke of what his drills were used for.

He thought about the books he had read, fantasy books where magic shields and wards were used. Surely he could imbue his dome with such magicks; his mind shouldn't have too many restrictions! He lifted his hands and thought. He wanted the shields to be really strong, to be impossible to breach! Almost immediately, the dome began to exude an odd purple light. It shone brightly. He hoped, he wished for it to be impossible to find, for only him to know its location! There was a flash of white light and suddenly, Harry felt extremely fatigued. He fell to his knees, not even yawning as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Harry woke to a tremendously bright light. He stared at its source; a pulsing cube suspended in midair. It was an incredible sight; bands of black and green were constantly writhing and twisting across its gold surface.

He wondered what this thing was, it certainly wasn't his life source, nor was he in any part of his mind scape he recognised. He looked around, using the cube's luminescence to see. Nothing but brightly lit expanse. He looked to the cube, and reached out to touch it, as he had with his life force. It was unbelievably electric in feeling. Like the static shocks Dudley liked to give him, but a thousand times more intense. He blinked rapidly, not really enjoying the sensation as it travelled at lightning speed up his arms, tingling across his skin. Almost as soon as it began, it was over. The cube was massive now, thrice Harry's own size. He stared at it, intrigued. He felt unbelievably alive now, full of energy, with none of the fatigue from earlier lingering at all. He looked at the cube, and reached out to touch it again. There was an odd noise, like when Vernon and Dudley slurped spaghetti, and he was sucked in.

He looked around, realising he was next to the cube, but now he was in the forest. He walked down the path, out of the clearing, but then stopped. This cube was obviously very important, to make him feel like that. He turned back, quickly creating a similar dome to the one around his entire mindscape, imbuing it with the same magicks as before.

He looked at it, satisfied. Then he realised he couldn't get out. An idiotic mistake to make with an impenetrable dome such as this. He walked to the edge of the clearing, where the dome began, and when to knock on it with a fist. He stared in surprise when his hand slipped through. He grinned happily and stepped outside on to the path. He wandered down it in the direction of the house. As he drew up near the hammock, a shrill voice cut through the calming silence of his haven.

"Boy! Get up, now!" his eyes were wide as he heard the familiar, rapid knocking on his cupboard door, oddly amplified as it echoed through his mindscape. How was he supposed to get out?

On that thought, he was suddenly lying on the floor of his cupboard, breathing quickly as his eyes opened He sat up quickly, pushing the door open and crawling out. He rushed to the kitchen, glancing to the clock as he went. It was 5:30AM, only 7 or so hours after he went to sleep. Surely he had been there longer than that? He had spent hours going through the bungalow alone!

"Boy, get through these before 7:30. Then, I want you to cook a full English breakfast. Ensure it is perfect for Dudders and Vernon!" she said briskly, handing him a long list of chores. He nodded obediently, looking at the list mournfully. Sighing, he began the first of many laborious tasks; cleaning Petunia and Vernon's ensuite.

At 7:20, having completed the various chores set by Petunia, Harry returned to the kitchen and began cooking. He cooked a tremendous meal and set it all out on the table; bacon, bacon lardons, turkey bacon, numerous types of cheese, fruit salads (these would go uneaten, but Petunia liked to see them on the table), biscuits, white toast, grainy toast, charred toast, butter, margarine, lard, yoghurts, kippers, and many other things. The table groaned under the weight as Harry looked at all the food mournfully. The only things that wouldn't be eaten by the Dursleys would be the fruit salad, and Petunia would save that for later.

She hardly ever let him have food anyway, claiming that if it was difficult for him to talk, he needn't bother eating either.

At 8:05, Vernon and Dudley thundered down the stairs, Vernon crashing down, Dudley almost nimbly avoiding every third step. Dudley ran in, grabbing the remote and sitting at the table. He soon made himself comfortable, putting the telly on at an atrocious volume, and picking up numerous types of cereal and bacon.

Vernon squished himself through the abused door frame, looking rather like a large jelly being crushed into a small tube. After a few seconds of struggle, he made it through, and began stuffing himself with food. Petunia ate lightly, taking only some toast and a handful of lardons. Harry waited patiently, standing still with a tea towel over his arm and a neutral expression on his face. By 8:30, all of the food had been consumed. Dudley and Vernon went upstairs to get dressed, while Petunia ushered Harry away as she put all the plates in the dishwasher.

Harry quickly put on his nicest clothes, and went to the door to wait for Dudley. School began at 9:00, and ended at 4:30, with lots of breaks and playtimes. Originally, Harry had stayed home, but Dudley had let it slip about his cousin not being allowed school, and from then on Harry was to come with Dudley. Petunia pecked Vernon on the cheek, and ushered Dudley and Harry into the car. Dudley was blubbing about something or other, but Petunia wouldn't let him stay home "sick" after what the school said last time.

After the 15 minute commute, Vernon dropped them off at school, playfully ruffling Dudley's hair, and ignoring Harry, who quickly left the car and ran up toward the school building. The eight year old, upon going through the doors, slowed a little to briskly walk to his classroom. He went in and sat down, wrinkling his nose at the math sums on the board, as well as page numbers for text books. He worked through them quickly, finishing them before Miss Adams even explained them to the rest of the class.

He raised his hand to indicate the completion of his work. Miss Adams came over with a patronising smile painted on her face.

"Have you checked them through, Harry?"

He wrote swiftly on his board. _Yes, thrice through._

"OK, why don't you write a story while everyone finishes up?"

He nodded tightly, letting out a sigh as she walked away. He worked quickly, filling 4 pages before the playtime bell rang. Miss Adams lined everyone up, ushering them outside.

Harry handed the teacher his story and began walking to the library.

"Harry! Wait!" he turned around to see Miss Adams looking at him in surprise.

"Mm?"

"Where are you going?" Harry pointed to the sign directing people to the library.

"You don't want to go outside today?"

"Mm-mm!" he responded in a firm negative.

"Oh. Alright then." Thoroughly confused, Harry walked on to the library, wondering what on earth could have brought that on. After all, he went to the library everyday during the half hour break. He shrugged and selected a book on phobias he had requested from the librarian yesterday. The day went on in a similar fashion, with no lessons Harry found particularly interesting or challenging. Miss Jones had come to speak to him about maybe moving up a few classes.

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that, but the Dursleys wouldn't allow it anyway. It would be harder to conceal their nephew if he excelled like that, after all.

Harry debated it as he worked through the chore set by Petunia - making the garden wonderful again after the harsh winter. School would be interesting, but there'd be no one his age. His classmates would be more mature, but he would probably be teased. He would likely be patronised constantly, but with more access to the library across the road, rather than the puny school one, surely it was worth it? Harry continued on with his work, abandoning the subject. It wasn't his choice anyway.

That evening, Harry returned to his mindscape, this time arriving in the bungalow immediately. He wanted to see if he could go to other peoples' 'scapes. He walked to the edge of the garden, making a mental note to fix it up, and went through the gate. He walked through his dome easily, not finding it too difficult.

He found himself on a simple, but oddly mismatched street. To his left was a giant mansion, the garden filled with toys. On his right was a rather dark house, with a small garden and simple colouring. Through the window he could see a large television, and there was a black Mercedes in the driveway. Across the road was an exact replica of 4 Privet drive, an odd multicoloured thing with cats in the garden, and a pretty house with a white picket fence. He walked to the right, going through the mansion's massive gates. Behind the mansion were more toys, as well as a brick door. He went into the mansion and was intrigued. He found himself in a massive storage room, full of fridges, shelves and tables full to the brim with food. There were sweets, pastries, roasts, chips, crisps, chocolate, cakes, chicken, lamb, rabbit... Harry walked to a table and picked up a chicken drumstick and bit into it. The taste was divine, but it even after he ate three, his stomach felt no fuller. Apparently, he could taste all he wanted, but the food was all in the mind. Harry quickly left the kitchen and tried to find the stairs. He discovered an escalator.

On the first and second floor there was a myriad of games, toys and machines. On the fourth, there was a bathroom, a very luxurious one, and a bedroom. On the bed, snoring quite loudly, lay Dudley. Next to Dudley's bed was a computer. Quietly, careful not to wake him, he tiptoed over and moved the mouse a little to dismiss the screen saver.

Here was a log of all the information Dudley possessed. There wasn't really too much information, but at least he knew where it was should he need it. He was beginning to suspect that Dudley wasn't going to wake up. Though he snored, he never moved. Harry poked his chest and lightly slapped his face. He made a massive punch to his chest. Nada.

Harry grinned and went back down to the kitchen, noticing a trap door as he went to leave. He walked over and pulled it up and slid down the ladder. The massive basement room was surprisingly well lit, with a switch to dim or brighten. There was a large flat screen TV in the corner, and covering the walls and most of the room were shelves and shelves of videos. On one shelf there were a few books and comics, but Dudley was far from the bibliophile Harry was. He looked around at some of the titles but it was useless. Most of the videos were movies and TV shows, useful only for enjoyment. Dudley didn't really watch documentaries.

Harry left the garden and went outside. Dudley's garden was large, but it contained only toys and garden furniture.

In the other houses it was much the same, the one on the right being Vernon's. It was slightly disturbing really, he didn't think he wanted to go back in, but he knew where he kept his knowledge at least. In Petunia's house, the replica of 4 Privet Drive, it was very easy to find information, as everything was in basically the same place as the real house, and his aunt was certainly one for being organised.

In the cat house, he found Mrs Figg. He found a lot of books and videos in one room, but in her knowledge section, he saw odd words he didn't understand, as well as books on magic. He made a mental note to come back later.

Inside the house with the white picket fence, he found Miss Adams. She had a wonderful range of fiction books, with a lot of Stephen King that he hoped to work through. Her non-fiction range was also quite extensive, so Harry could take loads of knowledge from these books.

As Harry wandered through the streets of the odd mismatched town, he was amazed. It seemed to contain the mindscapes of only people he had met, at one point in his life or another. He stopped short at a set of 5 rather odd houses. They were somehow different from the previous ones, and he had no clue whom they belonged to. He went into a hut and saw a massive man on a massive bed. His knowledge was in a trunk at the bottom of it. There were books, but somehow the shelf in the trunk could be moved, revealing more. On the table was a mug with a name plate - Rubeus Hagrid. He left the giant's house, assuming the man was like Mrs. Figg - slightly barmy. All his books were on _magica_l beasts! In the next house, a rather uniform cottage, was an old lady in a tartan dressing gown. She wasn't in her bed, but slept curled up in a chair, with a book held lightly in her hands. She also had shelves of books on magic. He found her name on a Mastery Certificate for Transfiguration, whatever that was: Minerva McGonagall. In the gaunt house, Sirius Black's, the man was sleeping curled tight in the corner. In Remus Lupin's house, there was no sleeping person either. But in a basement room in a metal box, a huge wolf slept curled in a tight ball. He didn't know what the wolf meant. In both houses, there were more books on magic.

In the next house, belonging to Albus Dumbledore, Harry got a surprise. He walked in, but stopped and went quietly when he realised someone was awake inside. He could hear them moving about in the other room. He crept inside, but knocked over some sort of silver instrument.

"Hello?" Harry didn't know what to do! Quickly, he wished he looked different, so the man wouldn't recognise him. They must've met before for him to be here, after all! He slapped himself in the head as the old man came into the room. Better to run away! He did so.

"Excuse me, where are you going?!" Harry dodged the bolt of energy and ran out of the door, through the petite garden and away. Albus Dumbledore stopped at the doorway to his house, watching the blonde boy run and jump the face into blackness. He hadn't recognised him from anywhere. He shrugged and assumed it was some sort of dream figure. No boy so young could use Legilimency and it was impossible without eye contact anyway. It wasn't the first time a random creature had wandered in from the odd madness of his dreams. Dumbledore shrugged and went back inside.

Harry was breathing heavily when he stopped running at the Bungalow. Of course there were other people in control of their mindscapes! Of course, it was obvious not many were, but still. And at least 6 people had weird books on magic. He decided to go over to Mrs Figg's house and examine them. He selected the first book, simply titled Magic, and began to read.

As he read, he became more and more amazed. Magic was _real. _He was a Muggle, Mrs. Figg was a Squib!

Of course, the night would end. But the next night, Harry would be back.

As he worked in the garden one Saturday, Harry wondered if it was alright, what he did. Was it an invasion of peoples' privacy?"No, what they don't know won't hurt them!" Harry thought. Over the weeks, Harry finished the books in Mrs. Figg's 'scape. He went on to Minerva McGonagall's, slightly confused. The last book in Figg's mind had been about him, but he wanted to check with McGonagall to see if what he read was right. He picked up the book about him from the shelf and flicked through it, quickly reading it. After finished the last page, he grinned widely. Harry Potter was a wizard!

Over the next few months, Harry read all he could from all the magical minds, and then he read Petunia's to find more info on his mother. After reading all he could about magic, he decided to try a spell. Generally, the ministry couldn't detect wandless magic but he _was_ the Boy-Who-Lived, so there could be additional sensors. Even if there weren't he did have to be careful about the Statute of Secrecy. He did his first piece of intentional magic when the Dursleys had gone out shopping for the day. Levitating a vase was a lot harder than he'd expected. He didn't have a wand, and it kind of hurt to say the incantation. But anyway, the swish and flick motion had been useless. It was way easier to look at something then fill his mind with the idea of levitating. Within seconds though, he dropped the vase and it shattered on the floor. He shot forward and grasped a dustpan and brush to clear it up. Hopefully Petunia wouldn't notice.

Magic tired him out, and he found it very, very difficult initially. Over some time, though, he found it slightly easier, especially if he focused very hard on the words as he said them.

Over the years, Harry learned more and more, absorbing the knowledge of others by night and the knowledge in the library by day. He started getting worried a week before his 11th birthday. His letter was due soon, but what was he supposed to do with it? He would ask Mrs. Figg! But no, she didn't know he knew she was a Squib! He paced the kitchen as he waited for the roast, what to do, what to do... Petunia and Vernon wouldn't help, and Dudley was useless, wait! Petunia, Petunia had sent a letter to Hogwarts through the Muggle post! Yes! Problem solved, Harry grabbed the roast from the oven as the egg timer pinged. The next day, Harry received his letter. He read through it and smiled. Stealing some paper and a pen from Dudley's room, as well as an envelope and a stamp from the cupboard in the hallway, he wrote a reply;

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_I am deligghted to except your invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizadry, however I have a problem with getting my equeepment. My relatives realy hate me and they say magic is eevil, and I don't beleive they will take me to get my things, nor will they give me money to buy it. _

_Could you send sumeone to explain further? Im not really sure what some of the things on this list are, let alone where to buy them. _

_I apologize if I'm being a bother, its just that this school sounds so wondorful, I dont want to miss this oppurtunity!_

_Sincerlly,_

_Harry Potter_

Harry looked over the letter with a critical eye. He rambled, he made spelling errors, and his handwriting wasn't nearly as good as it normally was. He didn't want to go in with them thinking he was smart, after all. This way they'd underestimate him and give him more leeway. He wasn't sure if it seemed like he knew nothing of magic, but it was as good as he could get it. He quickly put it in the envelope and addressed it. He ran outside and quickly popped it in the letterbox at the end of the street, along with Petunia's letter to some friend in Wales.

The next day, Harry woke bleary-eyed to a knock at the door. Quickly, he dressed with a Switching Spell and answered. He smiled and waved, writing on his board.

"_You must be Deputy Headmistress McGonagall_!" She looked at him quizzically.

"Yes, Harry, I am. Can you not speak?" Harry shook his head and opened his mouth, showing the scar.

"Goodness gracious, how did that happen?"

"Tramp_."_ Harry mumbled with a little wince, trying to look like he was lying. Petunia came down the stairs, then, with Vernon closely following.

"Mr and Mrs Dursley, I'm here about Harry's admission to Hogwarts." Petunia gasped, rushing forward and ushering McGonagall in, looking around for the neighbours. She slammed the door. By now, Vernon had gone a rather impressive shade of puce. When the door slammed, he exploded.

"The boy will not be going! All poppycock and nonsense, he will be _normal_, like us!" Harry quickly cowered behind Minerva, as though Vernon was going to hit him, something he hadn't done for years now. He smiled inwardly when he realised Minerva got the message.

"Of course he will be, Mr Dursley! His name has been down to attend for years! Surely you would not go against his parents' wishes in such a manner?" she retorted, her accent strong.

"Freaks, the lot of you! The world would have been better off if that wizard bloke had killed all of you instead of just the whelp's parents!"

_"_You tol' me they died in a car crash." He mumbled, hoping his acting was enough to trick McGonagall. He tried to stay quiet for the rest of it, unwilling to hurt his tongue and make it sore.

"A car crash kill Lily and James Potter? Impossible, James never even set foot in an automobile!" After another half hour of yelling, in which Harry was positive he had convinced McGonagall he was being abused, the Dursleys conceded. Minerva took Harry's hand and Apparated him away. Rather than outside the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry had expected to arrive, they came to the gates of what could only be Hogwarts. Minerva walked with him up to Hogwarts, and started toward the infirmary. Harry was very glad he had taken the time to memorise the maps in Lupin and Black's 'scapes, the place was huge!

"Poppy! Poppy!" She called. Madam Pomfrey came in.

"Yes, what's wrong, Minerva? Oh, hello, dear, you must be Harry- Harry Potter, hmm?" She faltered a bit when she spoke, and Harry ducked his head as though he was shy.

"Harry has a problem with his tongue, but maybe you should do a full check up?" Pomfrey looked confused for a moment before catching Minerva's glance and understanding.

"OK, Harry, let's get you up on the bed." Harry looked to McGonagall fearfully, not letting go of her hand.

"It's alright, Harry, no one's going to hurt you here." Harry nodded a little, and walked over to the bed, hoisting himself up. Pomfrey quickly scanned him with her wand, using a number of different charms. Harry made sure to stare at her curiously as she did so, giving the impression that he'd never seen magic before.

The nurse began to explain the charms as she went through her diagnostics, and Harry paid particular attention to the wand movements, as she didn't say any incantations.

Madam Pomfrey frowned slightly as she continued. "Hmm. It seems you've sustained quite a few injuries, Harry."

"I'm sorry!" Harry said immediately, looking as nervously earnest as he could manage.

"It's nothing to be sorry for, dear." The Mediwitch assured him in a soft tone. "We just need to get you drinking a few restorative potions for a little while, alright? And we'll see about healing that scar on your tongue away, so you can speak better."

Harry nodded eagerly, offering a tentative smile.

Madam Pomfrey beamed. "Such a good boy. Now, wait here a moment." She bustled off, presumably to collect the potions. Harry looked to Professor McGonagall.

"Now, Harry," She began, seating herself carefully next to him on the side of the bed. "Have your relatives always treated you this way?"

"Not always, Ma'am. Just when I was bad, or when I did something fr-freaky." He put on the stutter for a little dramatic effect.

"Freaky?" The professor repeated, looking dubious.

"Like magic, Ma'am."

"You knew you were a wizard before you got the letter?"

Harry had thought about this, and already decided his answer.

"No, Ma'am, s'just that when I read the l-letter it all made sense." He said softly, widening his eyes slightly as he looked up at the Professor.

It was almost like he could _see _her heart melting.

"Oh, dear."

Madam Pomfrey returned swiftly with the potions, giving one for Harry to drink immediately (it tasted horrible) and vials, which he'd have to drink one of every evening for a week.

All in all, Harry thought as McGonagall led him down into the dungeons, where he was apparently to stay with another of the professors, he'd done well.

He was away from the Dursleys, after all.

Now he just had to melt the heart of this professor as well.

How hard could it be?


	2. Chapter 2

Harry blinked up at the professor when he opened the door. He didn't have to fake it when he swallowed nervously.

This one was tall and intimidating to say the least, with a large, hooked nose and long, dark hair.

"Severus, this is-"

"I see who it _is, _Minerva. Why is he _here_?" The teacher growled.

"My quarters have no space for him, Severus, you know they can't be enlarged further in the Gryffindor tower. You, on the other hand, have all the space of the Dungeons." The man scowled, but stepped back all the same to allow them entrance.

"Harry, this is Professor Severus Snape. He's a teacher here."

"H-hello, Professor."

"Got a stutter as well, have you?" Snape spat. "That's all we need."

"He's just nervous, Severus." McGonagall said clearly, fixing him with a glare until Snape stepped down. "Now, come outside for a moment."

Harry went and sat on the sofa. Straining closer to the door once it closed behind there, he heard an uttered silencing charm and inwardly cursed.

A few minutes later, when they came back in, Snape's pale cheeks were flushed slightly red and McGonagall looked positively venomous.

"Mr Potter, I'm going to leave you here with Professor Snape while I go up to see Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster, about this. Is that alright?"

Harry nodded, if a little tentatively. When McGonagall left, Snape spent a small time just staring at the boy, taking in the messy hair and unkempt clothing, the spectacles, but then his eyes... Snape shook his head slightly.

"What is it you _do _know of the Wizarding world, Mr Potter?"

"Not all that much, sir." Harry lied quietly.

Severus nodded, and then seated himself in his armchair, leaning forward. With any luck, the boy could at least remain quiet and listen. All he needed to do was keeping him occupied until Minerva returned to collect him.

"Hogwarts is a very old school, Mr Potter, one that has been standing for many hundreds of years. We have a variety of classes taught. In first year, you'll go through flying lessons. These will be taught by Madam Hooch during the first term, and you will learn to fly via broomstick, one of the primary modes of transportation in the Wizarding World.

Your main lessons until Third Year will be Potions, Transfiguration, Astronomy, Defence Against The Dark Arts, Charms, History of Magic and Herbology.

Potions is the art of Potioneering, of making poultices, draughts, dittanies and so forth, of magical ingredients. It is focused around magical ingredients and the magic of Arithmancy, that is, of course, magical numbers. Transfiguration is the art of altering the properties of a creature or object, in order to somehow transform it."

Harry nodded slowly, remaining intent on the professor.

"Astronomy will involve a class once or twice a week, late at night. You will study the stars and their movements. Astronomical shifts are very important in some areas of magic – including Potions. Defence Against The Dark Arts will be your focus on defensive and offensive spellwork, as well as harmful magical creatures, curses and so forth. Charms is smaller, ah, household magic.

Cleaning Charms, levitation, small spells that generally make a wizard's life considerably easier.

History of Magic is theory work. You will learn, mostly, about Goblin Wars. We haven't had one for a long time, of course." Snape assured him. "Herbology is the study of magical plants, of which there are a great many. Understand all that?"

Harry nodded.

"Now, Hogwarts students are split into the Hogwarts Houses. There are four, and determine things such as a Quidditch team – you'll learn what that is soon enough, I'm sure-" Snape added with a slight curl of his lips. "Where your sleeping quarters are, and who you'll do classes with."

"Now, Hogwarts was founded by four wizards and witches. Their names were Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin."

"The four Houses are Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin, each after their namesake. Ravenclaw's House symbol is an eagle. Their house colours are dark blue and bronze. Its members are known for intelligence, wit, creativity and wisdom, primarily." The Potions professor said quietly. "Professor Flitwick, who'll be your Charms professor, is Head of Ravenclaw House."

"Hufflepuff's colours are yellow and black, with their symbol being a badger. Members are known for being hardworking, friendly and loyal. Generally, they're thought to be "duffers" by the general population, the house of misfits that don't go elsewhere, as it were. Their Head of House is Professor Sprout, who will teach you Herbology."

"Gryffindor's Head is Professor McGonagall." Snape said, a slight bite to his voice on the first word. Harry took that in, recognising the resentment for what it was, even if he didn't know the reason. "The House colours are a rather gaudy scarlet and gold. The symbol is a lion. Gryffindors are supposed to be known for courage, foolhardiness, chivalry, nerve, and general heroics. Many Gryffindors, as you might imagine, die young." Harry nodded slowly, frowning slightly.

"And the last House is the one I am Head of." Snape said. "Slytherin. Our colours are silver and green, our symbol a snake. We are known for cunning, intelligence, ambition, resourcefulness and determination." Snape hesitated before adding, "Slytherins are also perceived to be of a "dark" House. Many are distrustful of us, and thus those within the House are fiercely loyal and protective of each other. We are not prone to the infighting the other Houses possess. I ensure it."

Harry stared up at the professor.

"I'm- the way McGonagall treated me... People will judge me for what House I'm in. More than other people, I mean. Won't they, sir?"

Snape tilted his head just slightly, surprised by the boy's perception.

"You are almost certainly correct, Mr Potter."

"I'm not going to be able to be normal, am I? I won't be able to go unnoticed." Harry said, sounding somewhat resigned.

"No, I doubt you will. Do you know why Professor McGonagall was so earnest in your protection, Mr Potter?"

Harry shook his head, looking concerned. Snape frowned slightly, sensing that the boy was lying to him. Skilfully, though, very skilfully indeed, but he was still lying. Snape elected to leave it be for now. He couldn't use Legilimency on a boy so young all the same, or at least, not without reason.

"When you were one, Mr Potter, your parents were killed by the Dark Lord. He wished-"Snape sighed. "He wished you dead. But when he tried to kill you, he could not. The spell, Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse, backfired, and he was defeated. You received that scar."

Snape stared at the boy for a moment, taking in his stricken expression. Harry remembered an echoing laugh, a scream, remembered a flash of green light. Snape remembered holding a woman in his arms, her hair red and her skin growing cold.

"You are famous in the Wizarding World for this. It was well-publicized."

"But he's dead now, right?" Harry asked, looking to Snape with a deep frown of his own. "Why does Professor McGonagall need to worry about my being safe?"

Once again, the boy's perception surprised him. He was more like Lily than Potter. More like a Slytherin than a Gryffindor. That was good, at least. Perhaps he stood a chance, even if it was a small one.

"The Dark Lord was defeated. No body was found. No wand. We do not _know _that he is dead." Of course, he did not mention the Dark Mark, faded but distinctly present on his left arm. "And we must assume he is alive. Even if we knew him to be dead, he had followers. Followers that would wish you harm."

Harry nodded. He did not cry, or shake, or give any reaction that would be typical of an eleven year old being told that many people wanted him dead.

"Yes, sir." He said in a quiet tone, looking thoughtful.

"You don't seem scared."

"I'll learn to protect myself." Harry murmured. "And people here will try and make sure I'm safe too, right?" Snape thought of Dumbledore's version of "protecting" him, when he'd been at school with Potter and the _wolf._

"Perhaps protecting yourself would be a good idea. It is- unfair, given your age, but all the same. It would be wise." Snape murmured. "I would advise that after you are sorted, in a few days, you ask your Head of House for instruction."

"Yes, sir." The boy opened his mouth, and then closed it, seeming hesitant. Harry felt he could trust this professor. He'd been honest with Harry as far as he could tell, and he seemed intelligent, if a little stiff.

"What is it?"

"What else will people judge me for, sir? Which subjects will proficiency in label me as an idiot? Which will make me seem intelligent? Is there Wizarding etiquette that's different from- um- Muggle etiquette? Are there any Charms or spells I would know if raised with a Wizarding family? What do I need to learn to fit in?" The questions came out in a sudden rush, and inwardly Harry berated himself for coming across as so childish.

With McGonagall, it was fine, but he wanted this professor to judge him as smart, not as a dullard or a child or an incompetent.

Snape raised an eyebrow in a fluid motion. Harry flinched, looking down. The man had a piercing stare, and even after his years of practice he couldn't quite stick it. Harry hadn't felt like such a child in years. He was out of his depth here, at this school.

At least he knew more than they expected, he knew more than they knew he did. And Voldemort- Well. He'd learn to protect himself. He'd have to.

"They will judge you for everything." Snape said. "If you are studious, they'll assume you to be soft-spoken, theoretically minded and useless in a "real fight". If you aren't studious, they'll all think you to be an idiot too incompetent to even think of being a proper wizard. If you associate with Muggle-Born students, many of the Pure-bloods will call you Blood Traitor and treat you as muck on their shoes. If you associate with the Pure-Bloods, the Muggle-Borns and the "Blood Traitors" will do the same."

Harry nodded, understanding frowning, and Snape smirked, having caught a slip.

"Know about Blood Status, do we?"

Harry froze and swallowed, looking up and meeting Snape's gaze. "No." He said clearly.

Snape smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. It was an unsettling curl of pallid lips around clean, terrifying teeth.

"That's right." He said in a clear tone. "I don't know how you know what you do, Potter, but you need to be better in hiding your slip-ups."  
"I don't know what slip-up you're talking about, Professor." Harry said in a quiet voice. "Could you tell me what Blood Status is?"

Snape gave a laugh. Again, something that wasn't pleasant, and was something another Harry might have found unsettling. This one, though, found it almost... Comforting, given how the professor could have reacted.

"Of course I can, idiot boy. Now, it all starts with magical blood..."


	3. Chapter 3

Harry nodded as Snape explained the etiquette involved in speaking with Pure-Blood students, as well as terms in regards to Blood Status.

"What are you, sir?" Harry asked. Snape frowned slightly.

"Half-Blood. My father was a Muggle." Harry nodded slowly. "And me?" He asked. He'd learned a lot from the Potions professor, as he'd filled in blanks Harry hadn't gotten from the books .

"Your father was a Pure-Blood from a long line." Snape said, flexing long, slender fingers. "Your mother was a Muggle-Born. However, due to your "Legend", as it were, your Blood Status is comparitively unimportant." Harry looked at the other for a moment. In the mindscapes, he'd tried to avoid reading books on people. That felt like a /complete/ invasion of privacy.

"What were my parents like?" He asked, the question making him feel vulnerable. Snape remained silent, thin lipped. Finally, he said, "That question would best be posed to someone else." He said quietly. Snape looked to the clock, seeing the hands not far off six o'clock.

"Come, Potter. Dinner in the Great Hall. Take note of the direction and the route as we move through the halls." Harry nodded, obediently standing. Snape led him out of his quarters and up through the Dungeons, bringing him to the Entrance Hall.

He pushed only one door open, carefully moving into the Great Hall. The teachers at the table all looked at Harry with interest, some with unveiled curiosity, others with more subtle glances. Snape settled at the table, gesturing that Harry sit alongside him. On Harry's other side was a very short man, balding, with white hair and a thick, impressive beard.

"This is Professor Flitwick, Mr Potter. He teaches charms, and is insufferably knowledgable about Duelling." Flitwick laughed loudly.

"Severus here is just upset because we've had a few debates he's been on the losing end of." Harry smiled, watching the cheery wizard over his glasses. He began to eat slowly.

"So you teach Charms, sir?"

"That's right!"

"What are Charms used for, sir?" Harry asked.

"Oh, everything, dear boy! Cleaning, tidying, cooking, gardening, protection... They're also used for little things on accessories, like enlargement and miniaturizing charms on trunks and other furniture!" Filius said happily.

"So Charms are used commercially, in lots of products?"

"Oh yes! Even in small things, like strengthening and self-cleaning Charms on fabric."

"Do Charms like that need a lot of power? Are they hard to learn?" Harry had taken in what Snape had said about Ravenclaws. Now, Flitwick looked delighted, ecstatic even, to be asked questions by such an eager student. Hey, Harry was even learning! He noticed both Snape and the Headmaster - Dumbledore - watching him. Snape had a slight quirk to his lips as he spoke with McGonagall. Dumbledore merely looked inquisitive.

Later, Harry walked back down with Snape with a new spring in his step. Flitwick absolutely adored him. He heard the Charms Professor comment to Sprout - he'd listened carefully for names - what a brilliant Ravenclaw he thought Harry would be.

"Is Potions hard?" Harry asked.

"It's not all too dissimilar to cooking. A skill that must be practised. Takes delicacy, time, patience." Harry nodded. He liked cooking.

"How does it work?"

"Magical ingredients react together. Arithmancy, the art of magical numbers, is also very important. For instance, how many stirs are in a potion, and which way they are stirred, can completely alter the outcome." Snape said emotionlessly, though inwardly he was amused.

"So what potions will we be doing this year?"

"You'll discover that when you buy your textbooks with Professor McGonagall tomorrow." Harry frowned.

"Are the recipes in the books always right? Can we alter them like cooking recipes?"

"You can with more knowledge of the subject. Under supervision." Snape added. "And not in classes." He already had a sneaking suspicion that the boy would be in Ravenclaw, but there was a chance he'd take Slytherin.

"Are there commercially sold potions?" Harry asked. "Like, um, ready meals?" Snape snorted at both the idea and Harry's phrasing.

"Most potions can be bought in bottles, completely made. But others can't stand a bottling process or last for very long."

"Why couldn't you just use a Drying Charm on a mostly finished potion, then liquefy it and add the last active ingredient?" Harry asked, looking up to Snape.

"Most ingredients react badly to active magicks like Charms. As a NEWT project, you could consider experimentation, perhaps with certain cosmetics potions." Snape allowed.

"NEWTs?" Harry repeated. He knew the system, however. Snape explained readily enough, but then went on to explain the potions course at NEWT level, keeping Harry fascinated. By the time Snape had finished outlining the course, speaking in detail of the potions and the course, it was around nine o'clock.

"So what if I-"

"Potter, I think it's time for you to go to bed." Snape broke in.

"But, s-"

"Bed." Snape insisted, interrupting again. He removed his wand from his robes, flicking his wand at the sofa with a non-verbal spell and Transfiguring it into a small bed. Harry stared at it with wide eyes. Snape then waved his wand at Harry, and his clothes became a set of silken green and silver pyjamas.

"What spells were they, sir?" Harry asked, eagerly. The Potions Master snorted again.

"Get into bed." He moved out of the room, into a room he used for brewing.

Harry slipped into bed somewhat reluctantly. He elected not to visit the mindscapes of anyone else here. While Hagrid and McGonagall were safe, Dumbledore had been a close call. He couldn't risk being caught by one of the other professors. Snape was the only one who'd realised Harry wasn't completely innocent, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He visited the mindscape of one of his old Primary school teachers, reading up on all she knew of her hometown, London. That's where Diagon Alley was, after all. Admittedly he was learning the Muggle stuff, but it could be useful all the same.

Snape began to brew a new potion for the Hospital Wing, thinking of the boy in the living room. He was so curious. He seemed fascinated by everything around him. Snape was reminded, not for the first time, of the way Lily had questioned him when they were children. Lily. He would protect Harry. He had to, for Lily.


	4. Chapter 4

Snape watched Harry speaking animatedly, seated as he was between Flitwick and McGonagall, both of which seemed pleased with his tendency to ask questions about the world around him.

He'd woken the boy only about half an hour back. Snape had shrunken a pair of his own slacks as well as a dark green shirt for the boy to wear. While it seemed a little formal, the colour went well with his eyes, and Harry looked comfortable enough.

Snape looked over his list, which McGonagall would be taking him out to fill today. It was simple enough, nothing he disapproved of. Well, he would have preferred a book written by a more proficient Potioneer, but any argument he shot Minerva was put down.

"Why do wizards use wands?" Potter asked, sounding curious. Snape looked his way, slightly taken aback that he'd asked the question. The use of wands was usually taken as normal, not something many thought about.

"Well, you see, Wandless magic is fairly difficult for many, as you have to learn to concentrate a stream of magic in a particular direction for a particular purpose. Wanded magic is already concentrated by the wand, making it a lot easier. Some people learn Wandless magic - in small does, of course - at around sixteen. Others never even try, as it's a hard skill to master. And generally, no massive effects can be wrought. It can be very tiring for some, but others are naturally more proficient." Flitwick explained, coupled with overly excessive gesticulation.

Harry nodded, frowning slightly as he made an expression of understanding.

"There are other methods of Magic focusing too, of course!" Flitwick continued cheerfully. "Some wizards and witches make use of staves and orbs! Both can funnel magic appropriately, though orbs are more appropriate for a single element, and staves are really best for particularly powerful pieces of magic due to the extent that the magic is concentrated."

Harry nodded again, looking absolutely fascinated. He hadn't come across any of this when reading before.

"Of course," McGonagall broke in, "You will only learn to use wands here at Hogwarts. Though you may be able to experiment with small pieces of non-verbal and Wandless magic in sixth and seventh year, respectively."

Harry looked up. "Non-verbal?" He repeated.

"Eat your breakfast." Snape broke in before either McGonagall or Flitwick could answer. Thoroughly cowed, Harry looked back to his breakfast. McGonagall turned to give Snape an insufferably smug look.

"Hush." He growled as the Gryffindor moved to open her mouth and make a comment. Potter rapidly swallowed down bacon and eggs and took the list from Snape, reading over it rapidly. Snape, watching the boy as he leaned, noted that his glasses were digging in behind his ear. He made a mental note to ensure the boy was taken to a proper optometrist's at some point for new spectacles.

"Why do we have to use a pewter cauldron?" Harry asked. "It says pewter, so there are other cauldrons, right?"

"Pewter cauldrons are neutral enough that they are not negatively affected by most of the ingredients we use. As well as being somewhat cheap, they are functional."

"What other cauldrons are there?"

"Silver, gold, brass, et cetera. Some cauldrons are better than others, depending on the potion being brewed. It's to do with how the metals react to the potion within." Harry nodded, looking very interested.

"There aren't many books on here." Harry muttered, sounding distinctly disappointed. McGonagall conjured him a quill, an inkpot and some separate parchment to hand over.

"Here. Write down these." McGonagall listed three introductory texts for Transfiguration, intended to explain how the processes worked. Flitwick broke in with similar ones about Charms, as well as some for Defense Against The Dark Arts. Snape dryly listed two Potions texts and an Astronomy one.

Potter struggled with the quill. He got ink on his hands and the parchment, blots plain and stark on the yellowed material.

"Is writing with quills compulsory?" He asked, unhappy with how untidy his list was.

"Yes." McGonagall murmured. "Hold the quill like this - yes, that's it - and have a slight flourish when you remove it from the pot to lose excess ink. Bar that, it's all down to practice." Harry nodded slowly, though there was a plain frown of concentration on his face.

"So I need this book for Astronomy? And that's what the telescope is for?" Snape and Flitwick nodded.

"What does Astronomy affect then? Charms?"

"No. Nor Transfiguration, or any more... Immediate magicks." Snape said lightly, leaning his elbow on the table. "Astronomy is more vital in more long term projects."

"Like Potions?" Snape made a dismissive noise.

"Very rarely." Harry frowned.

"So... Warding?"

McGonagall beamed.

"Yes, Mister Potter, that's exactly right. Warding, but more specifically for your studies: Runework. You won't start Runes unless you take it in your third year, of course."

"How do Runes work? Are they hard to learn? Is it fun? Do they take much power? What are they used for?" The questions tumbled out of his mouth in rapid succession. As Flitwick began to explain, McGonagall turned to share a look with Snape.

"_Just like Lily_." They mouthed to each other at the same time. Minerva was grinning like an idiot, the silly bat. Snape, though, was pleased himself.

They ate the rest of their breakfasts watching Flitwick and Potter excitedly speak to each other. The former seemed even more excited than the boy, and Snape knew Flitwick wanted the child in Ravenclaw now. Hell, they'd all want him in their Houses with his attitude.

Dumbledore was watching with a slight frown, Snape had noticed. Meddling old fool was probably upset that the child wasn't coming straight to him to ask questions. Hagrid just seemed pleased that the boy was around, and many of the other teachers seemed primarily curious about how very interested Potter was in... Well. Everything.

Towards the end of breakfast, McGonagall carefully rolled up the two parchment pieces Harry had, and Vanished the quill and inkpot.

"What spell was that!?" Harry asked excitedly, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice. Flitwick started laughing hard enough that he fell off his seat as McGonagall tried to hide a chuckle. Potter had the good grace to blush in embarrassment, at least.

"A Vanishing spell. It's actually quite difficult. The incantation is "Evanesco", though I did that non-verbally. It is a Transfiguration spell, and just Vanishes an object or a liquid, as well as animals. You will learn it in your fifth year, I would imagine. It is an OWL level spell, and is a difficult one at that."

"Where do Vanished objects go?" Flitwick started laughing again from his place on the floor.

"Into nonbeing. That is to say, everything." Harry blinked at McGonagall as she tried not to giggle.

"They are, ah, made into their particles and just become part of everything else."

"Oh." Harry grinned. "Cool."

"Come, Potter." McGonagall said, still looking very much amused as she tried to school her expression back into the more stern one everyone was used to. "We're going to go buy all your equipment and such."

"Yes, Ma'am." Potter said, standing and pushing his chair back behind the table. They walked to the middle of the Great Hall, to the large fireplace.

"Now, Potter, we're going to travel via Floo Powder. Look." Harry looked into the jar McGonagall produced from her pocket. It was full of a silvery green substance, a powder. "It was created many centuries ago by a witch named Ignatia Wildsmith. When thrown into the fire, it will turn the flames a harmless bright green. Then, you step into the flames and yell out your destination in a very clear, loud tone. You must keep your arms and legs tight to your body, else you might hit them in the fireplace as your travel. Alright?"

"Do lots of people travel like this?" McGonagall was amused by how eager the boy was to learn, she really was.

"Yes. It's quicker than flying by broomstick, and no license is required to use it. Now, take some of the powder and throw it down into the fire - aim towards the floor, not to the centre. Then, as you step forward, say "The Leaky Cauldron"." She enunciated the word clearly, and Harry nodded. Taking the powder, he obeyed her orders and yelled the words.

The sensation of Flooing was a strange one, he thought. There was a lot of spinning and flashing of random destinations, and really it was very disorienting. He stumbled out of the fireplace, feeling like something had pushed him out. He tripped and fell onto the floor.

McGonagall didn't fall. She stepped out with an almost cat-like grace.

"How do you do that?" Harry asked as she pulled him up to his feet.

"With much practice." She said lightly. "The trick is, Potter, to begin stepping out, at a normal, simple pace, as soon as you reach your destination and feel yourself slowing." Harry nodded, filing the information for future reference.

"Now, Potter. Welcome to The Leaky Cauldron." McGonagall said as Harry began to look around.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry was fascinated as he looked around. The wizards and witches mostly wore traditional robes, but a few of them were clad in Muggle clothes.  
A few of them glanced at him, looking curious, but before he could speak to any of them McGonagall had clasped his hand in hers. She led him towards the back of the pub, out and into the light.  
There was a dead-end, a tall, red-bricked wall. Harry looked to her expectantly. There was a slight smile to her face as she tapped one of the bricks. The wall folded back at the sides. Harry couldn't help but make a delighted sound.  
"Ho-"  
"I don't know, Mister Potter." McGonagall interrupted, knowing exactly what he was going to ask. "That wall is maintained by an office in the Ministry of Magic. In order to ensure it can not be damaged, its workings are a well-kept secret." Harry looked quizzical.  
"A whole office?"  
"They maintain a variety of similar ward structures, Potter. Not just this one."  
Harry gave a sheepish little laugh. "Right. Sorry, Ma'am." She gave a snort.  
"Come now." Harry looked around in fascination. Diagon Alley was bustling with people, shops full of foreign implements he recognised only from the memory "books", owls and ferrets and bats in shops.  
"Are bats and stuff commonly domesticated? For wizards, I mean." Harry asked. McGonagall couldn't help but give a small snort of laughter at his fascination.  
"Bats are far more common than among Muggles. As are owls, ravens, and other intelligent flying animals. Our postal system is not run by wizards - we merely tie packages and letters to these animals. Virtually everyone uses owls for letters, as they're considered to be the most loyal and efficient, but others trust their companions to deliver letters. Owls are generally bred to deliver post, you see, whereas bats and so forth have to be trained and enchanted from scratch."  
Harry nodded in interest. "Do animals have more use than that? Like, Muggles have guide dogs, and they ride horses."  
McGonagall looked momentarily thoughtful. "Sometimes. Some pets can offer Potions ingredients. Ah, some animals are ridden. Hippogriffs, occasionally - they're a cross between a horse and an eagle. These are very rare though, not many are domesticated."  
Harry nodded. He frowned, suddenly realising something.  
"Professor? I don't- I don't have any money."  
"Don't you worry, Mister Potter. Your father was a Pure-blood, yes?" Harry nodded. "He came from a fairly long line of successful wizards and witches. When he and your mother died, they left a significant sum of money. In the 10 years it's had, it's also gained in interest, I imagine."  
"Is it just money?" Harry asked, suddenly excited as he thought of the artifacts Figg's family had had. "Did they leave, um, Potter heirlooms? Like, rings and portraits? Books?"  
McGonagall looked suddenly sympathetic, and Harry felt all hope leave him.  
"I'm afraid that You-Know-Who killed your grandparents, Potter. He burned their Manor to the ground, including all Potter portraits and such. All that was left was destroyed in Godric's Hollow, when your parents were murdered. I'm sorry, Mister Potter."  
"It's um, okay, Ma'am. Shouldn't've got my hopes up." And yeah, maybe he was overplaying that abused card just a little. But hey, it worked!  
Gringotts was a big building, made of marble. Two goblins stood outside.  
"Good morning!" Harry greeted them both warmly. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, right? It was all well and good pretending to have vulnerable moments around the Hogwarts staff, but the rest of the world would eat him alive.  
He needed to be a happy, good-looking kid. He needed to be charming, but not arrogant. He couldn't buy lots of gold or expensive clothes. Cheap but well-made.  
The goblins growled their replies with unsettling smiles of their own, but Harry kept his grin to keep them sweet. No sense in them being offended by a fear of them.  
McGonagall led him straight up the centre of the hall. Harry looked around curiously at the goblins. They all seemed very intent upon their work, all possessing long, clever fingers. He was fascinated.  
McGonagall wasn't interested in the goblins. She went straight up to a raised writing desk.  
"I'm here about an as-of-recent unused account. Mr Potter's."  
The goblin gave a predatory grin as he looked down at the boy.  
"And does Mister Potter have his key?"  
"Yes." McGonagall said tartly, handing over a small, golden key. "From now, Potter, that key will be your responsibility."  
Harry frowned as the goblin examined the key, thoughtful. "Uh, sir?" The goblin looked down at him, raising hairless brows. "Do you sell any sort of enchanted chain? I'd hate to wear one only to have it break, you see."  
The goblin grinned. "Seven sickles. I will deduct it from your vault." He looped a silver chain around the key. "When around your neck, only you will be able to locate the clasp. Goblin silver: very strong."  
"Thank you, sir." Harry offered a tiny smile.  
"You are most welcome, Mister Potter. Griphook will take you to your vault."  
Harry put the key around his neck as they followed the goblin. "In the cart." Griphook said. McGonagall settled, straight backed and serious. Harry comfortably sat alongside her, curiously looking at the track.  
"Keep your hands and legs in the cart." Griphook ordered, and they started off. Harry laughed at the exhilarating feeling initially, delighted at the feel of wind in his hair. All the same, he didn't hold back.  
"Mister Griphook sir?" He yelled the words to be heard over the rush of air.  
"Yes?"  
"How long has Gringotts been established!?" He thought he heard Griphook give a snort.  
"643 years." Griphook paused. "Though your Ministry forcibly took control for a time in 1865."  
"That's wrong though. Gringotts was founded by goblins: it should be run by goblins!" Griphook looked back to shoot Harry a nasty smile.  
"You're right."

Harry was fascinated when they got to the vault. "Is this warded, sir?" Griphook raised his eyebrows.

"Indeed. All vaults are warded, some with better wards than others, depending on their age and how deep they are." Harry nodded in understanding, looking fascinated. "Goblins are powerful in magic then?" He asked, curious.

"Not in the same way wizards are. Our magic is different." Griphook scowled, thinking. "As a humming bird's wings are much different to the wings of a bat, they achieve the same flight."

"Now. Your key?" Harry removed it from around his neck, handing it to the goblin. He stared at the vault door as it slowly opened, his eyes comically widening when he saw the inside.

"Wow." He whispered, staring at the mounds and mounds of coins, in gold and silver and bronze.

"All yours, Mister Potter." Griphook said, seeming amused by the boy's expression. "Go in."

Harry stepped forwards, careful. This was certainly more than he'd imagined seeing.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry listened carefully as McGonagall explained the Galleons, Sickles and Knuts, obediently taking the pouch she handed him. He carefully filled it, ensuring he didn't knock over or disturb any of the larger piles of coins. He looked around, hopeful, but McGonagall had been right. This vault held only money.

"Professor? Are you sure this will be enough?" He bit his lip. "I want to buy a lot of books."

"You can write down your vault number and name in most of the shops we'll be visiting, Mister Potter. Though I'm not going to encourage thoughtless waste of your money, you will be able to spend as needed." Harry nodded, carefully attaching the pouch to his belt loop.

"Is that all?" Griphook asked. McGonagall gave a curt nod. Griphook indulged Harry on the way back up, making the cart go as fast as possible until Harry was whooping and laughing. McGonagall rolled her eyes at him, but he could tell she found it endearing.

"You'll be murder on a broom, Potter." She said, shaking her head in plain amusement. "Your father played Quidditch, you know."

Harry recalled Quidditch from Figg's memory. It had seemed difficult and complicated. "What's that?"

"It's a ballgame played on brooms. I'm sure your yearmates will be delighted to explain it to you at Hogwarts." Harry nodded slowly. She was trying to set him up to bond with the other kids, he guessed. He could understand that, even if it wasn't really appreciated.

Once they were out in the street, Harry looked to McGonagall for instruction. Of course, she would know all this far better than he could. He didn't even know where to begin on his list. "Rattle it off for me then, Potter. An old woman can't be sure of all the books kept." Harry gave a little laugh as she smiled.

"Yes, Ma'am."

_"First-year students will require:_

Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
One pair of protected gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags  
Set Books

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

_**The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)**__ by Miranda Goshawk  
__**A History of Magic**__ by Bathilda Bagshot  
__**Magical Theory**__ by Adalbert Waffling  
__**A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration**__ by Emeric Switch  
__**One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi**__ by Phyllida Spore  
__**Magical Drafts and Potions**__ by Arsenius Jigger  
__**Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them**__ by Newt Scamander  
__**The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection**__ by Quentin Trimble_

Other Equipment

1 wand (you will collect this last)  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set glass phials or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set brass scales

Students may also bring

an owl OR a cat OR a toad

Parents are reminded that first-years are not allowed their own broomsticks."

McGonagall nodded her understanding, frowning for a moment in concentration. "Well, how about we start with your trunk? That's certainly the best place to begin. And then we can set about worrying what to put in it afterwards." Harry looked momentarily thoughtful himself, thinking of the trunk in Hagrid's mindscape with its sliding shelves containing so many books.

"Professor?" He asked as she began to lead him down the road.

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

"Can you get trunks that are enchanted? For instance, to hold more? Or to be shrinkable? Or to be really light so that they're easy to carry no matter what's inside? Or, um, to be protected against thieves? Or-or-" Harry was forgetting himself and getting excited, running rapid possibilities through his mind.

"Mister Potter." McGonagall interrupted, grinning widely. "You can get a trunk to do ALL those things and more. However, given that you were raised among Muggles, I suppose you can see why a trunk full to the brim being easily carried by an eleven-year-old might be suspicious?" Harry's cheeks flushed.

"Yes, Ma'am, of course."

"That's called a Featherlight Charm, by the way. No, Mister Potter, those are just impractical. Especially when you can get an automatic shrinking Charm for half the price." Harry couldn't help but chuckle.

"Aren't you meant to be a Gryffindor, Ma'am?" She laughed outright.

"Please, Mister Potter, do not fall into the trap of assuming Slytherins cannot be brave and that Gryffindors are less than cunning. That assumption will not serve you well." Though she kept her joking tone, there seemed to be something serious behind it. Regret, maybe. Harry felt himself feel sympathy. He'd read about the War. Maybe that was it.

Harry bought a trunk. He'd almost managed to wrangle the trunk master – an excitable fellow who, presumably, had never met anyone so interested in his work before – into an hour long conversation about rune choice and how certain Charms would fit together and certain ones wouldn't, but McGonagall cut them short at twenty minutes.

His trunk had a special compartment for books, a shrinking Charm that could be activated with the tap of a wand, would open only for Harry, and was bigger on the inside to be able to hold all his equipment. Most of that, Harry discovered, was standard for a Wizarding trunk. Harry wanted to buy books, but McGonagall insisted they leave that until later in the day.

They bought clothes. Harry did not like that.

He had never much enjoyed shopping for clothes, and had never quite got the hang of dressing fashionably. But no, he was the Boy Who Lived. People would expect him to be up to date with these things, and with celebrities, wouldn't they? And whilst they wouldn't expect him to be up to date with politics, that was certainly important too. He quietly ordered subscriptions to a magazine called Witch Weekly, a paper called The Daily Prophet and another paper called The Owl Express. After all, he'd learned from Muggle papers – different papers would publish stories VERY differently depending on their agenda.

Harry did not want to miss a thing.

He bought normal clothes – apparently Muggle clothing was growing more and more common in the Wizarding world. At a lot of poking to McGonagall, she admitted that many purists and traditionalists didn't like the new tendency. Harry took that mental note in mind.

The Potions equipment store was absolutely fascinating to Harry. He was eager to look at all the ingredients, and was very careful in handling the beginner's kit he bought. He managed a fifteen minute conversation about what made ingredients magical with a very amused shop worker before McGonagall managed to tear him away.

Books were even worse. Harry was far too busy to talk to any shop workers this time. He ended up stopping himself at seventy four. McGonagall couldn't bring herself to tell him he couldn't possibly buy so many when she saw how very excited he was. She only stopped him when he moved to pick up any books she knew were stocked in the Hogwarts library.

After that, it was only some astronomy equipment and a cauldron to buy. That is, until Harry took a few steps towards Eeylop's Owl Emporium, absolutely enchanted with a beautiful owl that was settled in the window. He'd fallen in love with the sweet little bird, it seemed.

He named her Hedwig in his mind almost immediately, though he didn't verbalize this to McGonagall. Instead, he allowed to lead her down the street, lightly cooing owl and trunk in tow, and into Ollivander's Wand Shop.


End file.
